Who Giggles in Gotham?
by Amanda9
Summary: Everyone starts somewhere. And Gotham breeds the strangest of bedfellows. Post DarkKnight/ creation story for other Batman villain.
1. Part One

**Title:** _**Who Giggles in Gotham? **_ **  
By**: Amanda**  
Feedback:**sweety167 at yahoo dot ca**  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer:** The Batman universe is not mine. And this is a labour of love, not profit. Please explain that to my credit card company. Why must I work when all I want to do is write?**  
Fandom:** The Dark Knight movieverse**  
Summary:** Everyone starts somewhere, and it's such a small world after all. And Gotham breeds the strangest of bedfellows.**  
Completed: **December 2008**  
Notes: **I have no idea what this is, or why I wrote it. It actually started out as a little Joker-fangirling piece, but it kind of grew out of control. Blame it on 'dogs chasing cars' syndrome. Also, the movie was missing Harley Quinn, and this isn't her, but the same kind of girl. A bit of a homage to her. I didn't expect to write a creation story. But what can I say? That's what happened. Also inspired by the comic storyline _Hush_. And whenever I write Batman, I think of _No Man's Land_ by Greg Rucka.

* * *

**Part One  
Chapter Completed:** October 17, 2008

"_Even the most random acts of violence are inspired by some desire or need"_ – Brother Grimm, by Craig Russell.

* * *

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" the Joker turned to address his audience: the captive audience crouched and cowering on the bank floor.

He brandished a small carving knife that glistened in the overhead light. A knife they had already seen plunge into the flesh of one of the clown-masked henchmen, and now he pointed the blade in their faces.  
"Anyone?" he cut into the air with a flourish swing of his arm.

The crowd of customers and employees huddled closer together, letting out a collective squealing sob.

All but the young woman on the end. She looked up with wide, awe-struck eyes.

Slowly, she raised her hand like a student in school. Her arm shaking only slightly.

The Joker turned his attention to her, his tongue absentmindedly licking at the corner of his scarred mouth. He took a few limbering steps closer to her, the other scurried away. He stooped down to her level, pointing the blade an inch from her nose and cocked his head to the side, "You wanna know?"

Biting her lip, she nodded with a small, quick bob of her head.

He leaned in, eyes darting from side to side, "Clumsy barber," he whispered, mimicking the line of his scars with the tip of his knife, "too close a shave." He popped back up to full height, "but he's dead now. No tip."

The corner of the girl's mouth twitched and she let out a burst of laughter. Honest laughter.

She thought it was funny.

He tilted his head and watcher her, the scarred expansion of his mouth stretched into a smile.

_Two Years Later…_

"Mr. Wayne. Mr. Wayne," sang the chorus of reporters brandishing microphones, tape recorders and the odd blinding flash of a camera.

Old Hollywood style was alive in Gotham.

And Bruce Wayne basked in it all. Banked by leggy models on either side, he smiled and hammed at each call of the flash bulbs. The millionaire playboy in his element.

"Mr. Wayne! Laura Kinney, GNN," the woman at the front of the pack jumped up on the balls of her high heeled feet, gaining his attention.

Wayne's fundraisers had a way of morphing into press conferences, and getting way out of hand. That was part of the thrill.

"Miss Kinney," he flashed her the million dollar smile.  
Hard hitting professional that she was, she blushed, "Why the hundred thousand dollar bounty on the Batman?"  
For a moment, his smile slipped, "It's not a bounty." And again the perfect caps were visible; "We wouldn't want another vigilante on our hands Miss Kinney. I'm simply offering a reward for information leading to his arrest."  
"But…why?" Another reporter couldn't contain their curiosity. It wasn't everyday that Bruce Wayne pulled his head out of his personal life to see what the rest of the world was up to.

"If the Batman is a concern of the Gotham Police Department, he's a concern for all of Gotham. And I just want to look out for my city. My home."

"Gotham's new golden boy!" Miss Kinney squealed, to the applause of the crowd.

A giggle bubbled up from the back of the room, rising and picking up enough volume to gain the slip of a woman the room's full attention.  
"It's the second face of Harvey Dent," she shared, much to the gasping horror of everyone else. She bit her lip, "What? Too soon?"  
"Who---Who said that?" Bruce had jumped from the podium and pushed himself through the bullpen of reporters; his face dangerously stone serious.

"Ruby Haring, Metropolis Gazette," she smiled, with wide brown eyes and a soft wave of brown hair. She almost looked like…_no_.

"You're a long way from home Miss Haring," Bruce watched her with narrowed eyes.

She offered him a smile, and bit her lip, "When a man like you starts shifting his weight around, people take notice. Any political aspirations Bruce. Er. Wayne. Mr. Bruce Wayne?" She tacked a little giggled at the end to compensate for her little slip up.

He relaxed a little as he listened to her twiddle, under the eagle-eye watch of news cameras. "I'm afraid that's a little out of my league," he flashed the winning smile and added a self-defacing chuckle, "But since you've come all this way for a story Miss Haring, maybe you'd like to accompany me. See this _Golden Boy of Gotham_ in action?"

Her brown eyes sparkled with a dark amusement, "Why Mr. Wayne, I'd be honoured."

----

"You'll have to pardon my intrusion sir, but do you think this is the best idea you've had?" Alfred Pennyworth poked his head in as Bruce fixed another set of drinks – champagne for her, and sparkling water for himself. Tomorrow morning the papers would be plastered with paparazzi photos of Bruce Wayne and this Ruby Haring. The tabloids would spill with every variety of concocted story about the pair – Secret lovers, long lost siblings. Alfred had seen it all. Infotainment shows would be running video clips non-stop. They way the pair twirled on the dance floor, the close conversations, and the way she'd giggle in a twisted string of inappropriate laughter. The speculation would be immense. The media had already labelled the girl as Wayne's new toy. The guests had all whispered on their way out.

Ruby Haring had made a splash on her first night in Gotham.

So much so that everyone had forgotten about the reason they were gathered together. The fundraising coiffure was nearly empty, but everyone would remember the evening.

"This girl is a reporter – apparently," Alfred fought the urge to roll his eyes, "but that laugh of hers… who giggles in Gotham City. Well, other than--."

"—we don't talk about him," Bruce's attention snapped up to his Butler, and friend. "Besides," he went back to filling his glass, "she's not from Gotham."

"So she says," the older man stepped in, swatting away the other man's hands before he made an even bigger mess of the serving glasses.  
Relinquishing like the child Alfred would always see him as, Bruce sighed, "And…I think a little good humour could do me some good."

Alfred shrugged. The master had a point: all work and no play made Jack a dull boy. But there was something about that woman, who all of Gotham has seen on display at this little fundraiser, and now on Bruce's arm, that made him uneasy. It was something about her laugh. But Bruce didn't go out nearly as much as the Batman did, not since Rachel Dawes had… Maybe the giggling brunette was good for him. He just hoped that Bruce knew what he was going. And who he was doing it with.

"Will you be staying in tonight Sir?" Alfred handed over the glasses, each filled perfectly, and nearly indistinguishable from each other.  
Bruce smiled. He had managed to get the old man to see his side of it. It had been a year since Rachel had…a year since that maniac had been put away, and Gotham had grown quiet in the fall chill – except for the few robberies plaguing Amusement Mile, but nothing that required the attention of the Batman, or his alter ego tonight. Maybe it was time for Batman to have a little break. "Yes Alfred, I think I will," there was a twinkle in his eye.

Alfred watched Bruce stride across the vast penthouse, toward the balcony. The older gentleman had done his best to caution his employer against the dark eyed cutie, but it fell on deaf ears. Still, there was something almost unsettling about the woman, something that tainted her. He had a nagging feeling that they really should be more careful about who drifts inside the Wayne doors.

Bruce certainly saw no harm in having the woman in his home – and possibly bed. She didn't ask probing questions. She just smiled, and laughed. It was good to have someone who wasn't afraid to laugh around him. And he had secretly began to hope that her lack of questions ment that their whirlwind evening was no longer as professional as it once began.

Even if she had gently pushed away his every advance, maybe Ruby was just what he needed.

Not one of Bruce's eye-candy charms, but nothing as dark as what Batman would attract either.

He stepped out onto the balcony to find Ruby leaning against the railing, looking out over the city toward Sprang River. There was a chill in the air, but she didn't seem to notice, she was lost in something else.

He handed her one of the glasses, which she absentmindedly cradled in her hand. "You ever survive something so horrible you doubt you'll ever laugh again?" She stared off at nothing, but seemed to see something specific. Recalling it from memory maybe.

Bruce was sure he saw something there. She hadn't fallen this quiet all night.

"But then you meet someone," she turned to look at the billionaire, as if just noticing him there, "and they put a smile back on your face."  
She was so earnest, so open. Seemed to be waiting… Bruce leaned forward, his lips a breath away from her painted ruby red mouth.

"He's got a following you know. Inspired people," she sighed, speaking as if Bruce wasn't even there. As if what she was seeing certainly wasn't the reality in front of her, but the image in her head.

He righted himself, letting the sting of her rejection roll off his shoulders.

"Some will wait, but some… they won't," she smiled again, that far away smile that haunted him, "They all see he's special to Gotham. Very special. Some will want to be him. Some are jealous. And some," she chewed her bottom lip, "some love him."

"Who?" as the word dropped from his mouth a large explosion sounded – the force shaking them. Their glasses falling from their grips and shattering on the balcony floor.

She laughed.

Her eyes sparkled from the flames reflecting off the city.

It was Arkham.

The building was smouldering; a large chunk of wall had been blown away. And between the flames and smoke the inmates oozed out into the night.

Bruce was sure who was one of those inmates was. Who surely was again unleashed on Gotham as it slept. He could hear laughter: dark, far-away laughter. The disembodied laugh that haunted his dreams, and waking hours. Up until these few hours, when his mind was filled with chestnut hair and a deep red smile…

"Ruby—" he turned to grab hold of the girl, to steady her, and it clicked into place. Ruby Haring: Red Herring. His grip tightened around her arm, harder than he had intended. But that only made her smile wider. "Why, why me?" He searched her eyes for something; some recognition, some clue about her, but he saw only a devotion. A devotion to something else, someone else. Someone _else_. Something he had missed when he looked at her before.

She was cast in her true light now.

She shrugged, "The boss said you looked lonely. Like you lost your best friend."  
He released his hold on her, repulsed. _This hadn't actually been about Rachel…_

Ruby, whoever she was, continued, "And since he wasn't allowed visits, he thought I might get lonely too. And a little bored. Mr. J can be an awful nice guy." Her voice took on a whimsical, fairytale quality, much like her far away smile.

She dug her fingers into her scalp and tugged; the wisp of brown pulled away to reveal a fresh crop of blonde. "No hard feelings Bruce," she leaned in to press a lipstick covered kiss on his cheek, branding his skin. "A girl could get used to being wined and dined," she sighed, "But that's just not what I am."

Bruce's brow knitted, the wheels turning. There had never been a reporter, never really a girl named Ruby with a haunting laugh. Just a pretty face paraded in front of him, to distract him.

Maybe to remind him.

But of what, and for what reason? What was that clown after?

She pressed the wig into his hand, pressing herself against him to whisper into his ear, "Didn't mean, or want, to hurt you Bruce." And let her light steps carry her out off of the balcony and out of the penthouse.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred appeared: flush faced and wide eyes. Clearly he had heard the explosion – as all of Gotham must have – and came running. "The girl?" his eyes darted around, evaluating the scene as pieces shifted into place. Crisis evaluation.

Bruce shook his head; "She's gone." There was a sad registration in his voice, as his hand relaxed and the wig fell to the floor.  
"Sir?" Alfred was clearly lost on what had happened.  
The billionaire vigilante looked up, eyes flashing with the rage that pushed Batman, "She's not worth it. Let her share a laugh with the Joker. There are bigger messes loose in Gotham now."


	2. Part Two

**Who Giggles in Gotham? Part Two  
Completed**: November 18, 2008

* * *

"Care to take a guess on me?" a tall figure lumbered up to the booth.

That voice is what grabbed hold of Edward Nygma's attention; grabbed a strangling hold of it. He looked up from his book of crossword puzzles, preparing to flash his toothy smile and garish green jacket as he put on his show. Tricking the unsuspecting idiots out of their five dollars while he lied about their height, weight or what have you.  
But when he looked up, he stopped cold. The moonlight hit the voice's face in such a way it cast a goulish pallor and shadowed reflection.

"Not going to guess my weight?" the figure leaned forward, giving Edward an unobstructed view of his face: It was ghostly white, but in caked grease paint. Complete with sunken eyes and a stretched smile. It looked as if one of the carnival clowns had gone over the deep end, and thought it'd be fun to pick on little Eddy again.

"Oh great Quizmaster," the voice rasped again, reading from the banner. And he knew this was no one from the carnival. It was like staring into a Stephen King nightmare.  
"I'd hate to step on any toes…" this clown licked at his mouth and scratched his head with the tip of his knife, "but I'll be needing all the money you've got back there."

"I…I can't," Edward sputtered, "It's…it's not mine. I don't keep any back here."

"I may be a thief, but at least I'm honest about it," he reached forward, grabbing fistfuls of Edward's ugly green jacket, "You on the other hand; trick the poor saps out of their lunch money."

Edward shook. He had never seen anyone like this man, this creature. It made his swindling scheme seem childish and undeveloped. He wanted to be more, like the image before him. He wanted to strike the same kind of fear.

The demented clown rolled his eyes, dropping him like a puddle of green glitter on the dirt floor, "Never mind. I'll help myself." With an odd amount of grace, he leaped up and over the booth, rummaging through the crash box that Edward had used as a seat.

"Whooo," Edward tried again, clearing his throat with a wheezy succession of coughs, "Who are you?"

The jester stopped, his head turned on an odd angle to look him in the eye, "Oh Quizmaster... that's a riddle I'm sure you'll figure out." He flashed a yellowed, toothy grin before lunging over the counter again, "Soon enough, when you're a forgotten smudge, this whole city'll know me."

----

Five Years Later…

There was a body in the bay.

A woman.

The report came screeching over the police scanner. An unidentified caller tipped the police off: there was a woman floating in the river. And he was pretty sure she was dead. Considering the explosion and escape at Arkham, every available GCPD body was out on the street. Day and night for two days straight. Trying their best to return all of Gotham's beasts to their cages.

This had slipped through their fingers.

But Commissioner James Gordon was never one to sit behind a desk. He crouched by the edge of the water, next to a white-sheeted form. Gordon lifted the veil off the body, revealing a garish smile carved into her cheeks – from ear to ear. "With everything else going on we can't be sure, but we figure she's been in the water since the Arkham escape," he sounded sad and tired, very tired.

"Ruby Haring," a coarse voice crept up Gordon's neck.

The cop didn't turn, but acknowledged the living shadow over his shoulder. He figured the Batman would show up here. He was sure of it.  
"She was seeing Bruce Wayne," Batman reported, quoted the many headlines that screamed out from the newsstand. Though of course, he knew the truth.

"I didn't take you for someone who reads the society pages," Jim quipped, turning his head only slightly. Upon receiving not response, he continued, "We've already got an ID. Ruby, or whatever stage name she was using on the billionaire, is a missing person. Was. Alyssa Stevens. Seems she was also a witness to one of the Joker's earlier robberies. Only eighteen at the time," Gordon cast another sad look at the girl's mutilated face and wide, glassy eyes before pulling the white sheet back up to cover her, "Family sent her to a facility upstate. Post traumatic stress, or something. But that's where she went missing from. Ran away."

_And into the arms of a madman._ Batman let the thought move through his head.

"Found this too, tucked in her dress," Gordon held up a sheet of paper, protectively housed in a plastic slip. The waterlogged paper was actually the crossword puzzle ripped from the weekend's newspaper. It read: _Joke's on You_ in a careful scribble of ink. "Some sick joke, even for him." Gordon didn't have to specify how _**He**_ was. The moment they saw the etched smile in the girl's skin, they both had the same thought: The Joker.

But something didn't fit. Something wasn't right.

"Think he's going after old witnesses?" Commissioner rose to his feet.  
"No," came the reply from the darkness.

He cast another sad look at the young woman's cold form under the stark sheet, "Then what do you –." But when he looked back up, the Batman was gone.

----

It was only a mile up the River. The perfect vantage point to watch but not be seen. If no one was looking, he wouldn't have been found.

"I hear the cops fished a mermaid out of the river," the Joker sat on the edge of the bridge, half-hidden by the darkness, legs dangling over the edge as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I think you already know all about that poor girl," Batman stood a few steps away. An easy arms length, in case the clown made a move.

"Maybe. But I'm surprised you care so much to make a private appearance," he kept his watch over the police scene; carefully taped off with their yellow streamers and flashing lights. "Funny. We have so many of the same interests. My little herring: her dark eyes, that soft mouth. Long tangles of dark hair – well, it's such a treat to find a girl willing to play dress-up."

"You monster!" Batman spat. An unnamed rage bubbling inside him. Disgust. Part of Bruce Wayne's desperation, "She loved you."

"Did she?" the Joker watched his legs dangle over the edge, above the cold, rolling water, "Did she really? What kind of woman would love the likes of me…or you?" He turned his head sharply to look up at the Bat. His head at an odd angle in the early moonlight, revealing his naked face; his mouth hanging against the twisted scars of his face and the natural, deep circles around his eyes. Just as sharply, he pulled himself back into the shadows, "Can't blame me though," his voice returned to its sticky sweetened tone, "You know what happens to the women who fall for the likes of us." He sprang to his feet, "They end up dead!"

Batman recoiled slightly from the abrupt movement.

"Poor Ruby –"

"Alyssa," the gravely voice corrected.

The Joker shrugged, "Whichever – she cracked under the pressure. And _widdle_ Rachel fell to pieces," he flexed his fingers to mimic the warehouse explosion.

He sprang, slamming the Joker back against the support beam, making his teeth chatter in their sockets.

But still the clown managed to laugh.

"Why?" Batman snarled, "Why did you kill her?"

The Joker's head snapped up, "Kill her? Why would I kill her? I wasn't done playing with her," his slick tongue darted out to lick the scarred corners of his mouth. "Someone took my toy away, and I wanna know who."

A sick and twisted image floated through the Batman's mind. He fought to ignore it, fought to suppress Bruce's shudder. That girl had seemed so…so much like he had wanted to see her as. He really had no idea about the woman in the brunette wig. He looked to the Joker, and for a flash of a moment saw the man standing before him; sloppy clothes and messy hair. Within the lunatic hid a man. Human.

"Than what's the meaning of this?" Batman pulled out the note that had been found on Ruby's body.  
"Stealing evidence?" the Joker clicked his tongue as if chastising the bat. "Not at all my style," he narrowed his eyes at the paper, disgusted, "Seems the Carny went to the big top."

"What?" he snatched the paper back from the Joker's greedy hands.  
"I would have left the Queen of Hearts, I should think. Seems so much more fitting after all. Don't you agree?" His tone and manner seemed casual, but the Batman had caught sight of something.

The other man's wheels were always turning.

"Do you know who did this?"  
The Joker watched him through slanted eyes, "You'd be the first I'd tell."  
"The police will arrest him," even as he spoke those words, the Batman felt how hollow they were. How they would carry no weight, no real meaning.

The Joker chuckled, "And they do such lovely work." The Joker tickled by the fact that there he stood, on the wrong side of the law, while not one boy in blue could find him.

It was only then that Batman realised the Joker was still clad in his Arkham issued jump suit. Not really inconspicuous in the least. But they were talking about the same men who couldn't find a man dressed up as a bat, when he stood in front of them.

Silence settled with them for a moment: the uncertainty of the moment. According to the GCPD, both were on the wrong side of the law. But would the Batman capture the crook, or use him to catch the one who hurt Ruby?

The Joker waited, a smirk twitching at the side of his mouth. He had so many ideas about the bat, and his curious nature wanted to see each one play out.

Before the Batman could decide, or give into fate, a pair of search lights illuminated them.  
"Police! Freeze!" a pair of officers on patrol had spotted the unlikely cohorts. They had their gun trained on them, but neither officer seemed confident in their position.

"Sounds like a plan," the Joker flashed a toothy grin before diving off the side of the bridge, and into the dark, icy water below.

Batman darted his eyes back and forth between the Joker's escape and the uniforms. Shaking his head, he fired a ripcord in the opposite direction. Rip tailing up a safe enough distance away, to another building, carefully hidden by the unnatural shadows of the city.

He crouched against the brick wall, keeping a careful eye on the dumb founded police on the bridge, who were aimlessly directing their flash lights down into the Sprang River. He slipped a small computerized screen from his belt. The small, beeping beacon on his GPS told him that the clown had made it safely out of the water, just a little upstream. He'd follow him; sure he would lead him to the author of the note, and the girl's killer.


	3. Part Three

**Who Giggles in Gotham? Part Three  
Completed**: December 11, 2008

* * *

There was screaming.

He was sure. But had no idea whose strangled screech was ripping through the silence.

Or he did.

It didn't matter. It was just noise now. Like buzzing in his ears. Buzzing in his brain.

The quiet kids are the ones you should look out for. Fear. Worry about. Who knows what goes on behind those quiet smiles.

That buzzing again.

A swirl of colours. Nothing solid. Nothing still.

Red.

- - - -

_Undisclosed years later… _

Feet propped up on the small, cheap coffee table. Dirty shoes without a coaster. He was waiting in the darkened apartment of one E. Nygma.

He laughed. The boy had made an effort. It had amused him a little.

Still he waited. No need to be formal, or flashy. He'd just wait until the little rat scurried home. They always come back to their hole. Besides, little Eddy had no where else to go. Scared little rat.

Soon, a key slide into the lock, and a moment later the light clicked on. The rat managed to enter, and close the door behind him before he noticed the other person's breathing in his space.

"You!" Edward shrieked, dropping his meagre bag of groceries on the floor.

"Me," the Joker agreed from his seat, "Hope you don't mind, I let myself in Quizmaster – but since you've helped yourself to something of mine I thought it was permissible."

"I…I don't know what you mean," he stuttered; clearly nervous as he attempted to collect the food spilled out at the doorway.

The Joker smiled, "Such a grand leap you've made from swindling fair-folk to murder."  
"Mmmmurder?" he again dropped the poor bruised apple that had fallen.  
"Murder," again the Joker agreed, rising to his feet.  
Edward flattened himself against the door, despite the gap of space between them.

"You've been playing with my things," the Joker rubbed his hands together; twitching, itching.  
"I…I have no idea what you're talking about," blindly, desperately, Edward grasped at the door, searching for the knob.

The corner of the Joker's mouth twitched, "Blonde, Yah high," he gestured a rough height with his as he took a step closer, "Deadly smile." He sneered.

Recognition flashed in the wide blue eyes of Edward Nygma. "She…she was yours?" he gulped, "I didn't know. Thought she was Bruce Wayne's. You know, nothing personal. Business."

"Guess the _jokes on me_ then Eddy-boy," he pulled a gun from the waist band of his purple pants, "But I don't see anyone laughing." Instantly he was close enough to press the gun under Edward's quivering chin. "You have to be careful who you kill in this town, big bad Ed."

"It…it wasn't me," Edward snivelled. He went weak in the knees, and it felt as if the gun shoved under his chin was the only thing keeping him upright, "I didn't kill the poor girl. She was already dead when I spotted her in the water. Who knows what demon slithered out of that hell to kill the little darling?"

"Did you see which miscreant did it?" he bared his yellowed teeth. "Think carefully now," he tapped the end of the gun against Edward's temple, "tick, tock."

Edward swallowed the large lump in his throat again, his eyes darted around frantically, "I…I...no. No. She...she jumped. Head first off Gotham bridge."  
"Tisk, tisk. Which is it Eddy?" the Joker was clearly losing his patience.

Nygma just nodded, causing the nervous sweat to roll down from his brow.

"What you need Ed, is more style," the Joker waved his gun around as if it were a natural extension of his arm, "That would be the best way to avoid this _confusion_ in the future. And it really doesn't do to piggyback someone else's. Taking credit for someone else's work is no way to start a career. Got it Quizmo?"

Edward nodded like a bobble head doll in the back of someone's car.  
"Good – but too bad this is a wasted lesson," he aimed the gun between Edward's beety blue eyes.

Edward screwed his eyes tightly shut, praying to something for it to save him. Anything to save him. He felt a swift rush of air past his nose and heard the Joker hiss in pain.  
He opened his eyes to see the clown clutching his purple clad hand, the gun limp on the floor and the Batman standing in his living room. If he wasn't inclined to faint before, he swayed than.

"Now, now. I was just saving the over-worked clods of the GCPD some work," the Joker rationalised, "You heard him… He touched my **stuff**!" He raged, pulling a knife from his oversized coat and lined it up with Edward's pale skin, "Just let me cut him up, nice and pretty, like he did little Ruby."

"I can't let you do that," Batman growled, his eyes carefully passing between to two men, studying the scene.

"Come on. It'll be our little secret. It'll bring us closer together – Like blood brothers!" He pressed the tip of the blade into Edward's cheek, a bead of scarlet broke free, "Tell me Ed, what's the best medicine?"

The other man's lip quivered, "Laughter?" He replied with an almost hopeful smile. Scared, but hopeful.  
"Funny," the Joker pulled back slightly, letting the nick in Edward's skin weep, "I was thinking **revenge**." He moved to plunge the knife into the other man's soft body. But the Batman moved first – springing at the clown and knocking them both to the floor.

Edward laughed then. Nervous laughter spilled out of him. "How could I guess if it wasn't in the form of a riddle?"

His laughter ended with a quick puff of breath from his lungs as the Batman forced him against the door.  
"No riddles. No games," he growled, "Why'd you hurt the girl?"  
This time the Joker laughed – which was difficult having had the wind knocked out of him, "hoho, answer the good man Riddle-master." But he made no attempt to get up. In fact he seemed content waiting to see just how dark the Dark Knight could get. Having had a taste of that familiar darkness lurking just under the surface, he waited to see just how much it took for the man under the bat suit to crack. Or crack more, as the case may be. It only takes one bad day, as the Joker rightly knew, and he was curious to see if the Bat had any days left.

He sat, expectantly as a child, cross-legged on the floor. Waiting. And watching.

"Like I told the clown," Edward clawed at the Batman's grip, trying desperately to scurry away, "I never hurt her."

"You just watched a woman jump to her death?" the revolution rolled off the caped crusader, "You stood there and watched?"

"Well, yes," Edward was shocked by how suddenly he was released. "The girl was a mess – drunk, blubbering. Why should I stop her? What good would it have done me?"

A large, Kevlar-lined fist crashed into the wall, grazing his ear. He let out an inhuman whimper.  
"Bats would have been on your side," the Joker's stale breath hissed, "But instead..." the veiled threat hung in the air as Batman grabbed hold of Nygma's lapels and tossed him into the opposite wall. The two things happening in a blur together. Choreographed.  
"But you pulled her from the water to deface her body!" his gravelled voice boomed in the small, confined space of the one bedroom apartment.

"Not...exactly," his beety little eyes darted back and forth before the two men. "She did that herself too. Quite convenient really. Blubbering on to herself about wining and dining clowns – or some garbage."

Internally, Bruce Wayne cringed at the replay of words, though the Batman was stoic as stone.

"She broke into a horribly off-key version of _Put on a Happy Face_, than cut herself a smile. Before going head first into the water, of course. "  
The Joker smirked; his mouth twitching at the amusing image dancing in front of his eyes. He'd see it as a tribute. A kick to his ego.

Batman saw it as a cry for help. One he was too late to answer.

"Explain the note."

"Ah, well, that. Yes, that I did do... nasty business," Edward grew quiet, reliving the extent he went to. Having to wait until the body resurfaced, wadding out to retrieve her and then planting the smoking gun, as it were. He smiled; madness clouding his usually clear blue eyes, "But it served a purpose."

"Framing me?" the Joker popped up to his feet, a few casual steps behind the bat, who himself had moved slightly. The Joker took another step closer, antagonising the other man with the condescension of his stature.

"You're Gotham's _Clowned_ Prince of Crime," he snarled, the very though sickening him, festering in him, "You blow up a few hospitals and everyone knows your name. I've been robbing Amusement Mile blind and no one takes a second look!"

"Then why fed my fame?" the Joker cocked his head at an odd angle to get a closer look at the crumbing sanity.  
"I hoped they'd shoot you on sight for exterminating one of Wayne's pets," he leaned in close to the clown's smug face, challenging him.

Quickly, Batman pushed him back against the wall with more force than necessary, as the Joker's teeth snapped at his nose. A fraction closer and the there would have been one bloodied mess.

"You have a twisted mind Nygma," disgust was obvious in the vigilante's eyes, an inability to understand.

"A real riddle," the Joker cracked, and Edward snickered.

"That's me; a real Riddle," his eyes beamed with pride.

"No...not so much a riddle," his lips curled up over his teeth, before snapping; "You coward! Nothing but a coward!" the Joker lunged at Edward, anger bubbling in him, over him. "Snivelling, slimy," spittle sprayed from his mouth.

Despite the Batman's quick reflexes, the clown got a few good hits into the soft flesh of Edward Nygma before being pulled off of him.

Soon enough, a select few members of the Gotham City Police Department would be beating down the door to this shabby apartment. And both creatures would be put back into cages. One of them a little worse for wear.

And a third dead.

A girl who had gotten in over her head. A girl with misplaced affections. A girl he had carelessly tossed out.

It was a mistake. It was human error. But the Batman can't afford to be human. It leaves too many things venerable, too many people venerable.

Too many people suffer.

Too many have suffered for him to learn.

No, Batman could not afford human frailties.

He quickly secured the pair, and dangled them out the already broken window. A waiting gift for the overworked members of the GCPD. And he would be there. Waiting, watching. Ensuring that the right man maintained the right order.

Commissioner Gordon gave the order to toss them both into the paddy wagon, as unsure himself as the deputy had been.  
"Do you think I should separate them?" The commissioner questioned the patch of shadow next to the building. The Joker's smile took on a darker twist as he watched Edward being loaded into the van. Like he had found his prey. And he had no intention of letting a little thing like leg-irons get in his way.  
"No," Batman replied. Something had passed between him and the clown. A shattered understanding, that he chose to ignore, "I think they might have things to discuss."

Gordon sighed, running a chafed and chapped hand across his neck, "A girl's life traded off in some lunatic version of a pissing contest. What's..." he stopped himself before letting his real question leak out, "What's the new one calling himself?" He saw the scrawny man cower deeply into the hard, plastic seat.

"The Riddler," the answer was short and harsh.

"Looks like we're building a playing deck," Gordon sighed again, "Maybe we'll get lucky," he didn't wait for the Batman to ask him to continue, "They hired a new psychiatrist at Arkham. Maybe she can do them some good."

"She?" Batman croaked.

Gordon nodded, seems something had made it past the Dark Knight after all, "Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Top of her class, and eager to get her hands dirty," Gordon took a quick glance at the paddy wagon with the two crazies secured inside, "So to speak."

"Hmm," the Batman stepped further back into the shadow as he watched the vehicle roll away, "We can hope."

**End.**


End file.
